


rust inside our very marrow

by liketheroad



Series: when we go, how we go [1]
Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Codependency, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:48:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7946848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketheroad/pseuds/liketheroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the fuckin’ hell he’s already been through, everything they’ve got stretching out before them, endless and savage, and now he has to deal with this? Fuckin’ <i>love</i> and goddamn soulmates?</p>
            </blockquote>





	rust inside our very marrow

**Author's Note:**

> Very fictional, featuring a fairly flagrant disregard for realism in favour of magical realism and grumpily possessive love conquering all.

He knows. From the first moment Eugene stumbles into their tent, awkward but eager, Shelton knows what he is. He allows himself nothing more than a fleeting, half-lidded glance, gives nothing away and acts the part, seasoned warrior gently hazing the new recruits, but he can still see it, can feel it. He can smell it and breathe it in.

Eugene is his. He belongs to Shelton even though they’ve never met, even though they probably never would have, without the war. 

It’s terrifying, infuriating, and Shelton doesn’t want it. 

All the fuckin’ hell he’s already been through, everything they’ve got stretching out before them, endless and savage, and now he has to deal with this? Fuckin’ _love_ and goddamn soulmates?

The Japs weren’t enough, the heat and the exhaustion and the churning, seesaw of death and destruction? Not enough men, not enough water or food or sleep or fuckin’ asswipe, and what does the good Lord have in store for Merriell Shelton?

A lilywhite fuckin’ ginger with hope and righteousness behind his eyes. Jesus Fuckin’ Christ. 

It shatters one of the few safe, strong places left inside of Shelton, makes his blood boil, but it doesn’t matter. Eugene is his, and by god, Shelton wants him.

\---

Watching Eugene sitting in the canteen with Phillips, all cozy and familiar, the only thought running through Shelton’s head is _mine_.

He wants to hiss it through his teeth at Phillips and then grab Eugene by the wrist and drag him out of there, throw him down on the dirt path and lay some kind of claim onto him, sink Shelton’s mark deep into his skin and make sure it stays there, for all to see.

He doesn’t, of course, refusing to let himself have any visible reaction at all, focusing on what he actually came here to do. He drags Eugene and a couple of the others out for a bullshit detail and settles in comfortably to wait and see who breaks first. He’s pleased with himself for putting on such a good show of outward calm, a shield of smug indifference hiding the panic in his chest provoked by the mere sight of Eugene. 

He is beautiful and precious and Shelton has never been more glad for the things the marines have taught him, the ability to both kill and to feel nothing in particular about it. He’ll need that coldness when it comes to Eugene, whether it’s to protect Eugene from the Japs, or to protect himself from Eugene.

\---

Eugene keeps working even after the others have gone, after Shelton’s happily admitted he’s got them all scrubbing oil drums for his own cheap, fleeting satisfaction. 

Eugene stays, held bowed, working even harder than before. Shelton sits above him, lounging on a turned over barrel, watching Eugene press on until the job is done. 

When it is, Eugene looks up at Shelton, something fraught and strange crossing his face before he jerks his chin away, breaking eye contact but not quite fast enough to hide the grin transforming his face. 

“Good job, boot,” Shelton says, meaning it even though getting the job done right or at all was never supposed to be the point of this whole thing anyhow. Just a chance to test the new blood’s metal a little, to see proof this shining boy before him could really be Shelton’s to keep.

Whatever he hears in Shelton’s voice causes Eugene’s grin to soften into something deeper, more private and real, that difference between putting on cockiness and actually feeling happy, and he says, “Thanks, Snafu.”

He uses Shelton’s nickname like it means something else entirely, stands for something good instead of what it does, and Shelton has to close his eyes and breathe deeply for a moment, trying to ignore how much he wishes that were true. 

\---

If Eugene knows too, he doesn’t give any sign. Certainly doesn’t say anything, or try to approach Shelton none. 

He keeps his head down, admits fear when pressed, but he doesn’t seek Shelton out, doesn’t demand comfort or even an explanation. 

Shelton sticks to watching him, high up and silent, assessing this man he already loves but barely knows. He wants it to be a mistake, wants to see the differences between them and know it can’t be right, what he’s feeling, but it doesn’t go that way.

A few hours was more than enough to be sure, and even that’s just as long as it took for Shelton to stop fighting with himself on it. Eugene is cut from a different cloth than him, sure, has lived a life Shelton can barely imagine, certainly can’t touch or relate to, but Eugene is more than what his privileged upbringing has made him. He’s got a jagged edge, a hardness that shows through his ironclad Southern politeness even before he’s seen combat, witnessed and doled out death.

A few days and Shelton can’t keep even to simply watching, has to drop down from his perches to steal closer to Eugene, eyes unblinking and hard, trying to turn Eugene into something it’s safe to want, something he can really have, to _keep_ , even out here.

 

For all that he watches Eugene, Shelton can’t figure out what he knows. He wants to march right up to Eugene and demand answers, grab a couple fistfuls of Eugene and tug him close and keep him there, but he doesn’t.

He sticks with waiting, watching, and Eugene seems content to allow him that much while stubbornly volunteering nothing more, not even the hint he might want to.

The closest they come to talking about it in those early days happens unexpectedly, in the middle of an argument started during rifle training that keeps going, turning personal and vicious. Shelton tries to end it by heading off to the edges of the beach to take a shit in private but Eugene doesn’t let him, following doggedly at his heels, still harping on all the reasons Shelton is wrong and he is right, stupid while he is smart.

It’s not the first time this has happened, Shelton reflects from his position squatted over a spot where the dirt meets sand, looking up at Eugene as he waves his hands furiously, refusing to shut up even though Shelton is now fully mid-shit. He isn’t listening to Eugene anymore anyhow, can barely remember what started the bickering and when it turned from simply passing the time into something sour. 

What he does know is that Eugene never pulls this crap with anyone else, not within their squad or otherwise. They haven’t even been in combat yet, least Eugene hasn’t, but it’s like he’s practicing how it feels, what it does to you, and is intent on taking that experiment out fully on Shelton’s back. 

Wiping himself off and hoisting his tired bones back up off the dirt, Shelton cuts Eugene off mid-tirade with a sharp poke to his side and the statement, “Ain’t nobody in this whole damn company who’d believe me if I told ‘em sweet little private Sledge’s got a mouth on him and a mean-streak a mile wide,” he means to be making another point entirely, but his voice comes out sounding sun-drunk and proud.

Eugene, for his part, shuts his damn mouth for a moment, lips curling into a twitching smirk, and he looks away from Shelton, jaw line hardening, when he says, “They can’t handle it. You can.”

It’s not much, but it fills Shelton with such warmth he almost feels dizzy, sick with it. How Eugene can make him feel, so easily. 

It’s not much, but it’s all Eugene offers him, so Shelton is more than willing to take it.

\---

He’s makes Eugene smile and feels like he’s won a goddamn medal of honor, makes him laugh and feels like king of the fuckin’ world, so proud of being responsible for even a sliver of happiness on Eugene’s face that he feels drunk with it.

They’ll share a joke at someone else’s expense and that’s the best of all, both of them instantly giddy with the sound of the other’s laughter, egging each other on. Eugene displays a better talent for practical jokes than Shelton would have originally expected, gleefully encourages the bawdier brands of marine humor from the sidelines while shielding himself behind a thin veneer of Southern reserve that does nothing to mask darkest parts of himself, the sharpest, cruelest ones that Shelton’s coming to love best in Eugene as well as think of as his own. 

\---

Fighting alongside Eugene for the first time is almost like starting combat from scratch all over again, ‘cept this time it’s worse. He’s twice as scared as he can ever remember being before, knowing Eugene is out there with him. He’s got shit to lose now, besides his own sorry hide, and it threatens to paralyze him.

Even on the boat before landing on the beach, he feels it, that difference. How much more everything matters now that he has Eugene. He offers him a smoke for something to do with his hands, a reason to try and get Eugene to make eye contact, lets the mocking disbelief ring out clearly in his voice when Eugene declines. 

When he throws up moments later, he’s stupidly, childishly glad some of it got on Eugene’s boots.

Off the boat, he’s gotta put Eugene out of his mind. Fully and completely, head down and moving on automatic, thinking as little as possible as he half crawls, half runs the course of the beach into the hills, focusing on nothing but the step ahead of him, the obstacles along the way. He wants to drag Eugene bodily along with him, but he makes himself keep moving, needing to trust Eugene to get himself to the same fragile safety Shelton is striving for. 

It’s easier once they’re working together, manning the mortar and killing as one unit, easier to keep one half eye on Eugene without being afraid it’s going to get them both killed. Adrenaline is pumping so hard he barely has room left to think, thank fuck, ‘cause that helps too.

When the fighting finally stops he wants to praise Eugene, kiss his dirty face all over and lick him clean, but instead he barks orders and abuse at Eugene for being foolish enough to take off his boots and glares at him hard enough he hopes Eugene gets the message. No way in hell Shelton’s letting Eugene die on him, even if that means he has to be a jagged fuckin’ thorn in Eugene’s side this entire goddamn war.

Later, he offers Eugene his open can of chow as an apology of sorts, and Eugene accepts it without hesitation. He says nothing when Shelton remembers the flash of gold he’d seen during the battle and busies himself digging a small fortune out of that dead Jap’s mouth with his knife, but he can feel Eugene’s eyes on him the entire time. 

Still they say nothing of importance to each other, and that night, despite the comfort Shelton half-wishes it was in him to offer Eugene, he just sits and stares silently instead, paying careful, cloying attention, breathing in and out alongside Eugene until he’s sure he can feel their hearts beating in time.

\---

After the airfield, it’s even harder to stay away. He feels the need to stick close to Eugene pressing against his lungs, pulling deep inside his bones, driving him ever closer, softening his eyes and his words. 

He shadows Eugene’s steps whenever he can, gives him a nickname that’s strong and hard, like he wants Eugene to be. When he uses it for the first time, the name _Sledgehammer_ drifting thick and proprietary off his tongue, Eugene smiles and ducks his head. For a half second, it’s almost like he understood the meaning behind it, the hope. 

Eugene says nothing to confirm it, just keeps walking, keeps smiling, so Shelton keeps his silence too, least about what matters. He runs his mouth about everything else, filling up whatever silence the war allows them, always keeping Eugene as near to him as he’s able. 

He keeps Eugene close and cares for him as best he can, not that it’s much given where they are and what they’re doing, but Eugene seems to understand that, too. He says nothing in particular to Shelton, often doesn’t even look at him when Shelton is going on and on, but he allows it. Allows Shelton’s presence, accepts his words.

He takes what Shelton gives him, too, be it food or cigarettes, an extra hour of sleep when Eugene’s supposed to be on watch. He takes it all without comment or complaint, but seems to have more trouble containing his reactions when their roles reverse, and it’s Eugene taking care of him instead. That’s the hardest part, the most difficult thing for Shelton to do, not just to care for Eugene, but to allow Eugene to look after him. 

He has to fight back harsh looks and cruel words when Eugene offers him solace, passing him a half finished smoke or offering him a light when Shelton’s pockets turn up empty. It’s hard to admit the vulnerability, downright sickening at times to show that weakness, but it’s Eugene. 

Eugene is his, and whether Eugene knows it or not, that means something, even out here. He can be strong for Eugene, can survive or at least want to, all for Eugene, but Eugene has to know he’s strong too. Has to understand neither of them are getting out of this alive, not without each other.

\---

Eugene keeps writing, and Shelton keeps telling him not to.

It becomes a game of sorts, between them. 

Shelton will sidle over during a march or after they’ve exhausted themselves getting somewhere only to realize the orders have changed while they were risking themselves following ‘em, get up real close to Eugene and chide him softly for only Eugene to hear.

“Can’t keep pourin’ all your dumbass hopes and dreams into that fuckin’ bible of yours like a goddamn schoolgirl, Eugene,” he starts in this particular time, mouth only inches away from Eugene’s ear. “Gonna get us all killed.”

A handful of others are sitting on the rocks around them, but Shelton pays them no mind. Unless it comes to the Japs or orders, these days he only has eyes for Eugene.

Eugene, who elbows him hard enough to cause Shelton to suck in a startled breath and jerk back. 

“Maybe I’m a spy, ever think of that?” Eugene asks him sometime later, when the conversation around them has moved on and Shelton has all but given up getting a rise or a joke out of him this time. That’s part of their pattern, usually. Shelton pushes, pushes, and Eugene cracks, either making a joke, like the first time, or shouting at Shelton a little to mind his own damn business.

Shelton never cares which, so long as he gets Eugene’s attention. No point being coy about it, least with himself.

Still, he likes Eugene’s jokes best because there’s almost always more than a hint of superiority in them, and something about Eugene at his most arrogant and snobbish makes Shelton’s toes curl. 

This particular joke falls a little flat, in that area, but Shelton is glad for the effort anyway, happy any time Eugene is focused on him, even if he’s not looking at Shelton or barely acknowledging it’s him he’s speaking to.

“You ain’t no spy, Eugene,” Shelton says, deciding that wasn’t a funny enough joke to play along with anyhow, although even to his own ears his voice sounds grave and sincere in a manner he hadn’t intended.

“You sure about that?” Eugene asks, a hard glint in his eye.

Shelton tilts his head, regarding Eugene for a long time before being certain he knows exactly what he’s all answering to when he swallows and says, “I’m sure.”

\---

If the others notice him acting differently since Eugene arrived, no one says boo about it. 

He tries to squint and picture it, tries to imagine and watch himself from the outside to see if anything’s changed, but it’s no use. He simply doesn’t have the energy to worry about it, no capacity left to give a good goddamn what he looks like, how his behavior toward Eugene might appear, for good or ill. Keeping track of Eugene and trying to stop both of them from having their asses blown off is more than enough to occupy him, and that’s on a good day.

They have mighty few of those.

\---

“Eugene?” Shelton asks one night when he knows they’re the only ones awake nearby, the others asleep or too far away to hear, watching the line.

Eugene’s lying on his back in the dirt, but he rolls over onto his side and looks at Shelton steadily.

“Shelton,” he says, more of an answer lingering there than Shelton can hope to understand.

They just lie there, neither of them saying anything more, staring at each other until their breathing slowly starts to sync up, in and out, in and out in the same deep, soothing rhythm. Eugene’s eyes close first, not before crinkling in a strange, alarmingly genuine way, and Shelton takes one last careful, measured breath without him and then closes his eyes, following Eugene to sleep.

\---

The war drags on stubbornly, and still Eugene seems oblivious, without a clue. 

It happens that way sometimes, Shelton knows. Soulbonds are rare enough, but when they happen, they don’t always work out neat and tidy. Happy endings are very much not assured. 

Mostly, it’s all heartbreak and yearning, that’s what the movies say. Books and commonsense, homespun wisdom. Soulmates are uncommon and recognizing each other isn’t guaranteed. Usually takes one person doing all the heavy lifting, realizing the bond is there and having the courage to reach out and take it. Shelton’s not surprised that particular task falls to him, is more focused on the bewilderment of having a soulmate at all than on hand-wringing over the fact that his doesn’t even seem to recognize him.

He’s never minded some hard work, a little struggle, and besides, Eugene is worth it.

\---

Eugene is also a goddamn son-of-a-bitch idiot, mind you.

\---

He catches Eugene reading his bible almost as much as sees him writing in it. Hears him praying under his breath sometimes at night, or when shit’s in the middle of hitting the fan.

It happens enough that Shelton starts to wonder if that’s the reason, if Eugene is one of those newfangled Baptists who think that soulbonds are the devil trying to trick you, lead you off the path of righteousness, particularly when they happen to occur between two men or women.

There’s no way to ask that without asking Eugene about all of it, what he knows and feels for Shelton, and he decided from the get-go that he wasn’t going to be the one to start that particular conversation. He tries to show what he wants with his eyes and his body, keeps close and watchful at Eugene’s side, but if Eugene sees the wanting in Shelton’s expression, tracks it in the fluttering movements of his hands, always falling just shy of touching Eugene, he says nothing about it, and gives no sign he notices or cares.

\---

“Where the fuck is my fuckin’ comb, Eugene?” Shelton grumbles from across their tent one afternoon in Pavuvu not long after they’ve returned, mostly just for the sake of it. 

He’s in a foul mood, exhaustion and the blood still caked in his fingernails from the weeks spent in the killing fields of Peleliu probably having something to do with it, but Eugene is here and his comb is gone, so. Might as well start somewhere. 

Eugene ignores him, as he often does, regularly deciding that whatever Shelton is saying, good or bad, isn’t worth listening to. It’s an asshole move, and one of Shelton’s favorite things about Eugene, if he’s honest.

“Did you break it?” Shelton presses, still mostly talking to be talking. “If you gave it to one of those asswhipes in Love Company I swear to Christ,”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish, because he hears Eugene sigh and turn over in his cot, muttering, “Shut the fuck up, Shelton,” with half a tinge of real malice. 

That stings a little, because Eugene makes him weak at the same time as he makes Shelton strong, gives him a reason to keep fighting at the same time as he exposes a million old wounds and future ones, too, soft spots and vulnerabilities laid bare under even Eugene’s most fleeting of attentions. 

“Fuck you, I will not,” Shelton declares, sitting up straight and getting ready to really start talking some shit, but by the time he’s settled on the best insult about Eugene’s pampered upbringing to kick things off, he notices Eugene has moved, and is standing in front of him now, his hand outstretched.

He’s holding Shelton’s comb, broken and mostly useless on his mess of curls though it may be. 

Shelton stares at the comb, then up at Eugene, and he huffs and pushes closer, attacking Shelton’s hair with the comb in his hand and a complete lack of finesse or tenderness. Trying to properly brush Shelton’s hair has always been borderline futile, ‘specially without pomade or some shit, but he settles in, sure Eugene won’t let that stop him. The comb scrapes at his scalp and rips at his tangles viciously, and yet Shelton is happy for it when Eugene’s movements are enough to draw wetness to the corners of his eyes.

He feels alive, properly and for once in a long time, glad to be so.

He stays silent under Eugene’s harsh ministrations, head bending low to accommodate him better, and feels an intoxicating lassitude settle over his bones, lingering in his chest for hours, long after Eugene has stopped touching him.

\---

They work well together, as would be expected of any soulmates. They don’t need to talk, rarely even need to look at each other, learn far quicker to anticipate each other’s needs and how to provide for them than a regular pair of marines, even in the intensity of their current circumstances. Combat breeds closeness, a loss of boundaries made necessary by the sacrifices they’re required to make for each other, the trust that must be doled out before it has to a chance to be tested or earned, but this is different.

It comes as no surprise or source of disappointment to Shelton that killing Japs together is what he and Eugene do best, but their connection doesn’t end there. Brutality is what they’ve been trained for, but more than that, it’s simple instinct kicking in. Nothing matters more than keeping Eugene alive, and Shelton acts to protect him out of self-preservation as much as anything else. Without Eugene, he’d be lost. Without Eugene, saving his own ass would almost certainly lose its appeal, and so he fights tooth and nail to protect him, not wishing to find out for sure. 

He and Eugene operate more like one person than two, much of the time. When they falter, it’s never on the battlefield, and at times it almost feels deliberate to Shelton, like Eugene is doing it on purpose. Failing to pass him a light or offer up scrounged rations before Shelton’s even voiced he’s hungry in order to make some kind of a point, but he tries not to analyze that suspicion too closely.

Shelton’s not sure he’d like the conclusions he was led to if he did.

\---

As the days bleed together, Shelton gets smarter, especially when it comes to Eugene. Most importantly, he learns how to watch Eugene’s back. How, sometimes, to save him from himself.

He learns how to protect Eugene, and slowly, how to comfort him after. Discovers it works far better to be meaner to everyone else than it does to be kinder to Eugene, learning he doesn’t have to go easy on Eugene to make him feel special, just so long as he goes harder on everyone else.

Eugene gradually gets less vigilant about containing his enjoyment of Shelton’s cruelty and general indifference to the feelings and suffering of others, hides his amused looks and mean smiles less and less. The pride in his eyes eggs Shelton on, encourages him to be snappier with everyone that isn’t Eugene, emboldens him to take what he and Eugene need however he can get it. 

It only goes to a certain point, of course. Bergie is largely exempt, Layton and a couple of others who have really been there with them are shielded from the worst of it, and they are all still marines, after all. On the same side and dependent on each other for too much to really make enemies or cripple another guy by taking all his shit, but Shelton pushes whenever he can, bringing Eugene lifted tobacco for his pipe or a dry pair of dungarees as a twisted tribute of sorts, anything he can, as often as he can. He knows Eugene doesn’t really care about the things Shelton gives him, just that he was willing to take them off someone else to do it. 

The longer the war trudges on, the Japs pointlessly refusing to surrender, the less accepting of any hint of softness Eugene becomes, and Shelton lets his love for Eugene show only in the small mercies Eugene allows, nothing really approaching kind, just something less than the blank brutality he has for everyone else. 

It’s what Eugene clearly prefers, all he’ll accept, and that’s fine by Shelton. Suits him better this way, too. 

\---

Eugene’s dog dies and Shelton feels crushed under the weight of his sadness, half-wild with the need to make Eugene feel better so some of it can lift. It doesn’t work, and Shelton tastes the failure bitterly on his tongue. His sigh is a heavy, weary thing as he settles in closer beside Eugene, silently offering what comfort the touch of their shoulders pressed together can allow.

\---

Hamm dies too, and Shelton decides it must be a metaphor, somehow. It’s one too fuckin’ many, pushing him past a limit he didn’t even know he had anymore. Hamm dies and something snaps in Shelton, in Eugene. It rips across their bond, shaking them both to the core. 

Eugene might not acknowledge the link between them, might not even realize it’s there, even after months of marching and sleeping and shitting and fighting side by side, but Shelton knows he feels it too, what happens after Hamm gets shot and the fight just keeps on coming.

Maybe it happened even before that, this strange and damaging ripple disturbing the waters they’re stuck swimming in together. Maybe it started when Shelton told Eugene not to bother learning the new guys names one minute, and then went and tried to befriend one of them the next.

Yelling at each other before Hamm gets shot, cruel and too loud in the dark, Shelton thinks that’s all it is, the hypocrisy of it setting Eugene’s teeth on edge. That and simple exhaustion, the lack of bodies and supplies driving them both past the brink, even with each other. 

Staring dead-eyed at each other after, it finally occurs to Shelton to wonder if Eugene was jealous, as greedy for Shelton’s full attention as he is of Eugene’s. He cuts himself off abruptly with the thought, choking down a hysterical giggle. Eugene Sledge, jealous over the likes of him.

Go figure.

\---

“I do know,” Eugene informs him crankily, some nights later. “I’m not an idiot.”

Shelton looks up at him from the mud soaked rubble where he’d been trying to get some shuteye and tilts his head back in the cradle of his folded arms.

“What do you think you know, Sledgehammer,” he drawls, putting his accent on thick like he knows pisses Eugene off, always taking it personally somehow.

“You know what I mean,” Eugene answers, spitefully refusing to offer specifics, and Shelton sits up against the broken wall of the Jap hut he’d been trying to sleep under. 

Does he?

“What in hell you talking about, Eugene? Know _what_? That we’re royally and truly fucked in our collective asses? That the Japs ain’t going to surrender until we’ve killed every last one of them, and hell, not even then, because no one’ll be goddamn left to wave the white fuckin’ flag? What do I know, what do any of us know anymore, besides that?”

“I know you’re mine,” Eugene says simply, unruffled by Shelton’s outburst, the angry way he sat up on his knees to spit the words at Eugene. 

Shelton falls back on his haunches, winded in an instant. It’s been long enough now that he never thought Eugene would say it, sure Eugene still didn’t even know, or maybe care. 

“The fuck,” he says finally, and waits for more words to come, but they don’t. 

Eugene snorts, unimpressed. Aside from seeming mildly irritated, he appears otherwise calm, in control. For his part, Shelton is still struggling to remember how to breathe. 

“You going to try and deny it?” Eugene asks after a time, when Shelton remains locked in a silent panic, time seeming to slow down around them. 

He not going to deny it, but he can’t think of anything else to say, either. A confirmation feels too dangerous, not yet knowing how Eugene himself feels. If he’s known all this time, why hasn’t he acted on it before now? 

“How,” Shelton swallows, hating this, and for a second, hating Eugene for making him feel it. Off balance and scared, not of dying or going Asiatic, but of feeling this much. Wanting this much, needing it. 

“I can feel it,” Eugene says, and Shelton stops staring at the ground long enough to see him shrug, a little tired, maybe impatient. “Can’t you?”

Shelton’s not sure what he means, not exactly. He knows Eugene, recognized the other piece of himself that Eugene carries with him right away, but that’s all. Maybe that’s all Eugene means anyhow. 

“I feel you,” Eugene fills in his silence again, and his tone is slightly gentler now, less impenetrable.

Shelton jerks up to meet Eugene’s eyes, then, heart pounding as Eugene’s words leave him feeling caught in the open, impossibly, agonizingly exposed. 

“Not - not your thoughts or even your feelings,” Eugene offers quickly, reading at least some of the panic on Shelton’s face right. “I can’t read your mind, thank Christ, I just feel _you_. Where you are and,” he sighs a little to himself, “where you should be. I always know how close you are, even with my eyes closed, half dead with exhaustion, I know. Feels wrong when you’re too far away, like I can’t think quite straight, can’t get my heart to beat right on its own.”

Shelton takes this in, reeling and leaning further back away from Eugene as best he can in this cramped, damp hovel where they’ve taken shelter.

“That’s a pisspoor superpower you’ve got yourself there, Sledgehammer,” Shelton says after the silence between them stretches on too long, threatening to engulf them both.

Eugene snorts and says, “It’s given me the split-second advantage I’ve needed to save your sorry ass more ‘n once,” his tone firm and final, nothing more to say on the subject.

Shelton nods, a short, jerky thing, and goes back to staring away from Eugene, sitting his ass back down on the dirt, arms wrapping compulsively around his knees, tugged up close against his chest.

“How come you never said nothin’?” he asks despite himself, when Eugene just sits across from him, watching impassively from behind his pipe. 

“Why didn’t you?” Eugene asks, his persistent outward calm making Shelton’s skin prickle. 

Can’t stop himself from answering, low and honest, “Thought you didn’t know.” He looks up, and Eugene’s stare drags more truth out of him, “Thought you didn’t _wanna_ know.”

Eugene tisks and lowers his pipe from his mouth, giving Shelton an unobstructed view of the frown that’s starting to form there.

“It’s not that, Shelton,” he says, almost sounding impatient again, wound tight, but then something in Eugene’s face softens again, and he explains lamely, “There’s a war on.”

Shelton laughs, quiet but deep and real, widens his eyes and doesn’t fight the wild grin on his lips from taking over his whole face. “Oh yeah?”

Eugene laughs too, shorter and a little more openly rueful. “Yeah, an it’s a mean son of a bitch, this one. Didn’t think there was any point talking about it, considerin’. Not much we can do about it, least not now.”

The _now_ hangs heavy between them, and when Eugene doesn’t speak again, Shelton allows himself to shuffle a bit closer, still keeping some space between them. Distantly, he’s surprised by the lack of interruption, no noise but the low hum of the camp around them, no shots, no shells. Not even Burgie or one of the boots looking for a smoke or conversation.

He focuses back on Eugene, his steady look pulling Shelton back from the edge his thoughts have abruptly taken him to.

The idea of there being more, something later, maybe better, that comes after this – after _now_ \-- is dangerous fuckin’ thinking. Suicidal, or damn near. _Ain’t nobody going home._ He’s said it, and that’s what he believes. Least, it’s what he’s repeated to himself over and over all this time: let yourself be dead already, give in to it, and let all the hope and fear of the living fall away.

But he hasn’t been able to manage that particular trick of belief, not really, since Eugene. Maybe now it’s time they both stopped pretending.

He’s been staring at Eugene the whole time as these thoughts race through his head, coalescing around that final revelation. Maybe there’s a later, maybe there’s not, but Eugene is alive and with him, here and now, and he’s Shelton’s. Most days he might feel like he has no soul left, might wish it was true every single fuckin’ minute he’s out here, but here Eugene is, proving him wrong. Walking around, tangible proof that there’s something good inside Shelton, something bright and strong and fuckin’ _alive_. Human, despite it all, and alive.

The courage is gone as soon as it sparks, and Shelton sags back into himself, not looking at Eugene anymore. He wants to reach out and take what’s his, but can’t make his body move. Can’t imagine bridging the distance between them, putting his hands and mouth on Eugene like they belong there.

They do, it’s what he was made for - what they were both made for - but fear holds Shelton back. Fear and exhaustion, the constant, nagging ache of hunger and lack of sleep, the things that dull all wants, all hope, no matter who you are, no matter how hard you struggle against it. 

Eugene keeps quiet, still watching him, and Shelton can feel the weight of his eyes even without the ability to perform Eugene’s particular magic trick, no special awareness helping him know Eugene’s movements, just what the marines and nearly three years in country have taught him.

Finally, Eugene relights his pipe and returns it to his lips, sucking in with that same unrelenting steadiness that Shelton’s come to crave and resent him for. 

Shelton lashes out, as much as his love will allow, kicking Eugene’s boot with his own and scowling when he says, “Better now than when we’re fuckin’ dead, so whenever you grow a pair and decide to get some, you know where I’ll be.”

He wants it to sound bruising, indifferent, but knows his words come out desperate and all too revealing, laying his need for Eugene bare. 

Eugene doesn’t jump on the weakness like he expects, doesn’t use what Shelton’s shown him to make him hurt, he just smiles, soft and private, and after a pause that feels too full of promise, Eugene nods once and then closes his eyes. He stays like that, smoking with his head tilted back in a fragile imitation of peacefulness until a shot goes off behind them, calling them back to war.

\---

It occurs to him later that maybe Eugene’s simply been angry. That he locked eyes with Shelton for the first time in that damn tent and felt that same bottomless fury Shelton did. Maybe the only difference between them is that Eugene’s held onto his anger, nurturing it all this time, while Shelton’s struggled to let his go. It wouldn’t surprise him if that were the case.

Lack of commitment has never been a weakness he’s had occasion to observe in Eugene. 

Unable to resist picking at the scab that new hurt causes to form in the same place deep within him that recognizes Eugene as his own, Shelton pushes, nagging at himself until that nervous energy finally spills over onto Eugene. 

“Not what you expected, was I?” he asks against what little better judgment he still has left. 

They’re alone for the moment, but that never lasts, and darkness only covers so much with the tendency the Japs have to light up the sky above them.

Eugene takes his time answering, but when he does, it’s with a snort that’s almost cruel, followed by, “You were _exactly_ what I expected.”

Shelton feels surprise knock him back, and he recoils deeper into the dirt wall of their foxhole behind him. 

“What?” he croaks, unable to say more and just hoping the blank look he feels taking over his face is conveying his suspicion well enough on its own. 

Eugene smiles a little, private and self-deprecating, and waves up and down at Shelton a bit dismissively, saying, “Well, not all the way down to your accent and hair color, a’course, but I’ve always known myself. No matter the comfort I was born into, I always knew there was never going to be anything regular or easy about my path, no sweet-tempered debutant to have on my arm and bear my children. Not in my nature.”

He sounds sure, unbothered, but all Shelton can do is stare at him in dumbfounded shock, processing none of this. He hears it, but can’t make sense of Eugene’s words. That’s just not how things are, not how people think. Especially not people like Eugene.

But maybe that’s wrong. Maybe Eugene is different, special, maybe he’s capable of seeing things that way, black and white, cut and dry, because at least one of them has to. 

It seems too easy, still, too simple, and Eugene goes and makes it worse, entirely unfathomable, when he says, “Sides, doesn’t matter if you’re what I expected it or not. I’m glad it’s you.”

Shelton has no response for that, except gaping like a slack-jawed idiot, and he has to shake himself out of it, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to draw blood and awareness back. 

“You’re a damn fool,” he settles on eventually, when Eugene offers him no quarter. 

Eugene laughs, almost too loud for their circumstances, and Shelton feels that familiar prickle of fear, lets that dread they all carry about revealing their location to the enemy take hold almost gladly, like welcoming back an old friend. At least this he knows how to handle. The madness of the war might not truly make sense to him, but he’s learned to give himself up to it and stop trying to bring order to chaos. 

With Eugene, giving up like that simply isn’t an option. Eugene matters too much. Shelton cares for him too deeply.

Still, he glares at Eugene and holds his rifle tighter in his lap, scanning the terrain around them until the night settles back over them and the sounds of the burnt out forest and their fellow marines remain all that he can hear.

Eugene shifts closer in response, not settling until their sides are pressed fully together. It’s dark, but it’s easy to make out the lines of each other’s faces, especially this close. 

For a long, charged moment, Shelton is sure Eugene will kiss him, finally claiming him that way, making it official somehow, but he doesn’t. Instead, Eugene edges closer still, angling himself so that he can place a hand over the one Shelton has still clutched to the barrel of his gun. Eugene squeezes his hand firmly, feeling like a promise Shelton is terrified of him making, the promise of later, of _more_.

Shelton wants more, wants desperately to collect on the promise Eugene keeps silently making him. He’s done fighting it, no longer has the energy left to hate Eugene for inspiring that need in him, but he’s also unwilling to do anything to upset the pace Eugene is so steadfastly setting for them. Instead of pushing, pushing until Eugene gives in, Shelton just sighs out a breath it feels like he’s been carrying for months, and lets his head fall to Eugene’s shoulder. 

He won’t take anything Eugene doesn’t offer gladly, but Eugene seems happy to give this much, shifting his arm so it’s up around Shelton’s shoulders, maneuvering them both until Shelton is snuggled comfortably against his chest instead of the mud that used to be at his back. 

“I love you, Merriell,” Eugene says, not casual or breezy, like what he’s saying doesn’t matter, doesn’t cost, but not shaky or hesitant either, and stuns him again.

Not that he didn’t know it was true, because of course he fuckin’ did, he just didn’t expect to hear it. Certainly didn’t expect Eugene to say it first, using his given name an’ all. Not with how things have been going, not with who they both are.

Despite all that, despite himself, the words unspool the worst of the hurt and fear inside him, soothing a wound he’s been doing his best to ignore since their first meeting, maybe even further back than that. Seems like he’s been feeling one way his whole life, seeing himself and the world that same way, and now with four simple words, Eugene’s gone and turned him into something entirely different. Transformed him into a person who is worthy, who is loved, and mostly importantly, who knows it.

He’s been quiet too long, he knows that too, no reaction except the sharp intake of breath Eugene’s words first triggered in him, and he can almost hear the grin spreading across Eugene’s face, the clash of his teeth coming together as it widens.

“Don’t get smug,” he snaps, not recovering as quickly as he’d like, but still pleased with the harshness of his tone, even if the response is delayed. He can feel Eugene chuckle behind him, and Shelton curls his face into his neck, just for this one moment, just right now.

Eugene loves him, and didn’t even make him say it first. Isn’t even acting now, in the fallout, like he expects to hear it back. Maybe he doesn’t need to hear it to know it’s true, not just because of the bond, but because Shelton’s already shown him, proved it to him in the field of battle and the scraps of peace they find alone together.

He presses his nose tighter against the curve of Eugene’s neck, and allows himself the luxury of hope.

\---

They aren’t any gentler with each other for having cleared the air a bit between them, although Shelton tries his hand at it, sometimes. Eugene makes him want to be careful, to be kind. It doesn’t come easily to him, as far from natural and effortless as Shelton can imagine, but Eugene inspires the desire to soothe and comfort in him anyway, makes him want to be more than his nature if it means he can do something good for Eugene.

It’s a struggle for him, and kindness isn’t what Eugene seems to want most days anyhow, continuing to give a much better impression of craving his cruelty and roughness instead. 

It hurts, in its way, to see Eugene wanting that from him, to watch him school his expressions into something demanding and cold, pushing back hard against Shelton’s tentative offers of warm conversation or open, unhurried affection. It hurts, but he understands it at the same time, and Shelton works at it until the hurt is turned to pride in his belly. 

Eugene was strong already, but he needs to be stronger now. The war requires it, and Eugene is trusting him know that he can take Shelton’s worst. If he can’t handle Shelton laughing at him when he slips headfirst into the muddy grave of a fallen comrade or watching him dig gold from a dead Jap’s jaw, how can he handle what the Japs themselves will surely keep throwing their way?

More than that, Shelton knows Eugene had to fight to get here at all, battling his body and his family both. That struggle, that drive, is part of who Eugene is. Wouldn’t make sense for him to want someone soft and gentle when there was none of that left inside him from the war, and maybe never was much to begin with. 

Thinking about it like that, Shelton nearly yearns for the early days at the start when he was stupid enough to think some kind of a mistake had been made, no way someone as good as Eugene could be for him. That made it easier, somehow, like Shelton himself was less implicated in their bond, and what it might mean for both of them.

Now though, he’s got no ignorance to hide behind, and frankly, this soulmate shit is even more of a pissoff when it’s actually making sense, when he can look at Eugene and not just know they belong, but understand _why_ , seeing all the jagged parts of himself reflected back in Eugene’s eyes, burning just as bright.

\---

When Eugene keeps his distance from Shelton now, it leaves him furious, half-crazed. He doesn’t feel the pain of their separations physically like Eugene does, but knowing Eugene is deliberately hurting himself by staying away is almost worse. 

He used to always try to allow Eugene what little space and time the enemy and their own commands’ assbackwardness afforded them to sulk, but he can’t stand it now. Now, whenever Eugene goes off to write and suck petulantly on his pipe all alone, Shelton follows him.

He always did, mind you, but he’s less subtle about it now, loud and obnoxiously in Eugene’s face whenever he most clearly wishes Shelton wasn’t.

Times it gets really bad, like after they both passed over that shelled out family in the hills of Okinawa, Eugene will push back, get mean about it, but Shelton never lets that stop him. Eugene might be a tough son of a bitch, but even at his worst, his talent for cruelty has nothing on Shelton’s.

He spares no energy worrying about politeness or propriety, either, which Eugene still clings to, albeit more and more sporadically as their tour limps along. 

When it finally comes to a head between them, Eugene stomping off on his own yet again only to turn around and find Shelton smirking right at him, standing barely an inch away, Eugene _shoves_ him hard and Shelton laughs.

He laughs and his whole face twists up with it unpleasantly, and while Eugene is caught staring at him, clearly surprised by himself, Shelton acts, launching himself at Eugene and knocking them both back, landing hard on the ground. He pins Eugene easily enough with his thighs, taking advantage of his strength and Eugene’s shock, and holds firm until Eugene stops squirming. 

The fight drains from Eugene, and he blinks up at Shelton, looking almost tender.

“I can’t fuckin’ take it, Gene,” Shelton says then, allowing himself the luxury of sounding as broken as he feels. “No water, no bodies, no ammo, no way I can stop the Japs from gettin’ you if it’s your turn, nothin’ I can do about any of that and I can. Not. Fuckin’ take knowin’ you’re hurtin’ yourself because of me. You wanna be pissed, you take it out on me, you hit me if you want, say any fuckin’ thing to me you please, but you stay close to me. You give me that much or I swear to god I will sew our fuckin’ sides together.”

Eugene lets out a breathy, involuntary sounding laugh and puts his hands against Shelton’s chest where he looms above him, palms flat, pushing, but not pushing him away.

It feels more like an acknowledgement, agreement even, and after holding his gaze for a minute longer, Eugene nods. Satisfied and almost dizzy from the unexpected victory, Shelton rolls off him, abrupt and total like he’s been burned. 

Eugene says, “Be careful what you wish for,” but he’s smiling, almost, and after that he never wanders off without Shelton again.

\---

A few tallies in Eugene’s bible later, Shelton steals the lighter out of Eugene’s hand to light his own smoke (also stolen from Eugene’s breast pocket, moments before) and says, “If we die before I get my lips around that cock of yours, Eugene, I’m gonna be some pissed.”

Eugene blushes a little from his spot just below the rock Shelton’s climbed his way up onto, pretty pink edging on the ridges of his cheeks, and coughs around his pipe. “Noted.”

“I’m serious, Gene, there will be hell to pay. Don’t think you’ll get off easy if it’s just me who bites it either, boy, no how. I will haunt your ass.”

“If you go, I go,” Eugene says, suddenly serious, his tone out of place with the playful mood Shelton had been chasing. 

He frowns to himself, spitefully angry at Eugene for a moment, and then eases himself down off his perch to sit beside Eugene on the sand, looking over their shoulders to make sure they’re still more or less alone, none of the other guys idling nearby paying them any mind. 

“Alright,” he says when he decides it’s safe to, shoulder wedged in tight between Eugene’s side and the bolder they’re now both resting against. 

“Try not to die on me just yet, mind,” Eugene says, and some of that teasing spark Shelton had been desperate for moments ago is creeping back into his tone as he continues, “I’d hate to deny us both that particular pleasure.”

Part of Shelton wants to shake him, to point out to Eugene that the only thing that’s stopping them from feeling the dizzying slide of Eugene’s cock down his throat is Eugene himself, but the bigger, sappier part of him that he’s done pretending doesn’t exist in relation to Eugene keeps Shelton silent. Eugene wants them to wait, and so they will. They’ll keep waiting until the war’s over, if they have to, if Eugene says so, and maybe Shelton’s all right with that, after all.

Dangerous as it is, maybe it isn’t such a bad thing, having something to hope for, something right and good and _theirs_ waiting on the other side of this hell they’ve found each other in.

\---

The war blunts everything except his need for Eugene, and when it ends and nothing else comes back, Shelton is quick enough to accept that it may be all that’s left of him.

\---

The war ends, but not for them. Not really.

There’s no time off lounging in the white sandy beaches of Hawaii, no heroes welcome home, just packing their shit up and heading to another strange and foreign place, left cleaning up the mess the war has made.

They can’t go home, but they’re not fighting anymore, even though it takes a long while for that to start to feel true. When Eugene’s bristling edges first start to soften as the reality of peacetime sets in, it terrifies Shelton. He sees no place for himself with a Eugene who smiles warmly and speaks to Shelton as if he’s pure and priceless, who allows himself to be so unguarded, so exposed, but the fear doesn’t last long. 

He watches, and waits, as he always should when it comes to Eugene, because Eugene surprises him over and over, and he still has much to learn. 

The panic eases when he realizes the new gentleness only extends so far, when he understands that Eugene isn’t taking off his armor, just allowing a single crack to form, one just large enough for Shelton to slip through. 

\---

There’s still work to do, and it’s neither glamorous nor heroic, but Shelton has never truly desired either. He’s content to do paperwork and man the walls of the compound, pleased as punch to do patrols and drills and best of all, a whole lot of nothing. 

Now that the war’s over, any minute of downtime they have, gathered in the mess or broken up into groups in their barracks on the base in Peking, the talk inevitably turns to plans for the future, going home. The seasoned vets talk in hushed tones about starting families, about the girls they left behind stateside or picked up along the way in Melbourne, and the newer guys prattle on about trophies they’re bringing home, scars they’re green enough to be proud of and weapons they’ve stolen off dead bodies.

Eugene never says much during these discussions, and Shelton follows his lead, saying even less. 

He’s curious, of course, can hardly help being so, and he gives in to that prickle of uncertainty about what Eugene plans to do after they all go home the best way he knows how -- in a roundabout, assbackwards and likely self-defeating manner.

“What about you, Sledgehammer,” he drawls out lazily one evening when they’ve just finished dinner and parted ways with the rest of their squad, feigning the need for sleep while the rest of the boys when out on liberty passes with the hopes of chasing tail. 

Eugene breathes out, even and slow, inhales deeply and does it again before saying dryly, “Care to be more specific?”

Shelton smiles, that same stupid warmth flooding his veins as always when Eugene lowers himself to act even a little shitty, something seductively comforting and familiar about it, a reaction he notices himself having even more, craving it, since they finally left real combat behind them.

Still smiling, Shelton licks his teeth and says, “Gonna bring a nice big Jap sword back home with you to terrorize the locals, or what?”

It’s picking up on a conversation that happened nearly an hour ago and neither of them joined in on in the first place, but Eugene doesn’t miss a beat, scoffing and replying, “Won’t need one, I’m bringing something far more frightening back with me to Mobile.”

Shelton stares at him, genuinely not getting Eugene’s meaning, which causes him to scoff again, even more puffed up and exasperated by all lesser beings and Shelton most of all, and then Eugene says, “I mean you, Merriell.”

Shelton flushes like he always fuckin’ does when Eugene slips his first name into conversation, somehow seeming far more intimate than the feeling of Eugene’s name on his own tongue. 

The blush turns deeper and a bit angry when he realizes Eugene is serious, isn’t going to correct himself or continue the joke.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, half off his stomach where he’d been lying, and gawks at Eugene accusingly, feeling oddly betrayed.

“Eugene,” he starts, not caring about what he sounds like, but flinching a little just the same when he hears exactly how desperate and close to begging that is.

Eugene is sitting up and turning in on him too, and there’s anger in his narrowed eyes, same as Shelton imagines must be showing in his. Eugene is the one who moves first, not backing down but calling Shelton’s bluff before he even realizes he was making one, striding over with purpose and hauling Shelton up onto his knees by the chain of his dog tags. 

“Did you honestly think after all this, living through this and making it out the other side together, I’d just _let you go_?” Eugene’s voice is low and full of enough foreboding to make Shelton flinch again. 

He nods before he can stop himself, half shocked by the realization that yes, that’s exactly what he’d been thinking. Eugene had been off with his head in the clouds, lost in thoughts of saving themselves until after the brutality of war, like there was anything pure left inside either of them, especially in relation to each other, and Shelton had played along. Had played along so well, in fact, he convinced even himself he wasn’t simply clinging to Eugene for dear life, just waiting for things between them to end. If not by Jap bullet or shelling, then by Eugene’s own eager departure from his company once necessity no longer dictated that he remain plastered to Shelton’s side. 

In his braver moments, he’d hoped he’d have the strength to be the one doing the leaving, if it came to that. If that’s what Eugene wanted, deep down, but wouldn’t let himself admit. 

When Shelton comes back to himself, he notices Eugene’s glare has gone soft, but only as far as his eyes. They’re still cold and hard, focused intensely on Shelton. He’s on his knees in front of Eugene, but because of the cot, they’re still nearly eye-to-eye. 

Shelton leans back a little on his heels, drinking Eugene in. He’s frowning now, starting to shift from anger to confusion as he tracks whatever is happening on Shelton’s own face, and Eugene doesn’t seem to expect it at all when Shelton reaches up and pulls Eugene in fast and hard, bringing their lips together and holding them there with a hand on the back of Eugene’s neck.

Neither of them move their mouths, so Shelton is hesitant to even call it a kiss, but they stay locked like that for several seconds, breathing in each other’s air, and when he lets Eugene go, it takes him another moment or two to actually move away. When he does, he sinks down onto the cot beside Shelton, and reaches for his hand while staring straight ahead.

They’re quiet for a long time, breathing in unison and holding hands, and Eugene squeezes his hand hard enough to make the bones of Shelton’s fingers rub together when he says, “I didn’t go through all this shit to give you up, not after what I’ve had to do to keep you already. You got a problem with that, tough.”

All his usual staunch, disinterested confidence is lost in those final words, despite how hard Eugene must try for it not to be, and Shelton’s heart cracks open painfully wide at the shakiness in Eugene’s voice as he grasps for his typical arrogant remove. 

Eugene still hasn’t let go of his hand, and so Shelton squeezes back, not as hard as Eugene did, but just as definitive. It’s acquiescence and an apology wrapped into one and offered silently, but no less sincere. After a long pause, Eugene accepts, tugging Shelton closer and drawing their clasped hands up to his lips, kissing Shelton’s knuckles, one by one. 

When he’s done he lets go of Shelton’s hand long enough to turn his wrist over, and then sinks his teeth into his skin, just below the pulse point. He bites down hard enough to draw blood and a frantic gasp from Shelton, his cock twitching in interest. When Eugene pulls Shelton’s wrist far enough away from his mouth to admire his handiwork, the proud smile on his face and the blood in his mouth makes Shelton swoon a little and he closes his eyes, hoping it’ll scar.

\---

Eugene starts having nightmares, but only if he isn’t touching Shelton. If they can get away with sharing a rack so that Shelton can keep his arms wrapped around Eugene, they’re good. Problem is, privacy is still damn hard to come by, particularly at night.

During the day, they’re either on duty or can steal off to be alone easily enough. It’s the nights that give them trouble, and it’s the nights that Eugene needs him most.

They do what they can to make themselves unattractive bunkmates, and they’ve both acquired enough of a reputation in the company that it spreads across the base fast enough, but they’re still alone less than half of their nights, and that means Eugene wakes up screaming the other half, usually refusing to talk about it later, but Shelton can always tell which kind of dream it was.

There’re only two choices, really. He’s either dreaming of Shelton dying, or he’s dreaming of the family they saw in Okinawa, the baby they both left lying on the ground, staring at it like they couldn’t quite remember what a baby was, let alone how you might treat one. 

Either way, night after night when they’re separated Eugene wakes up Shelton and everyone else who’s chosen to bunk with them with his trashing and wild, frightened crying out, and Shelton can’t abide exposing Eugene to that humiliation, not after everything else they’ve suffered. There’s no Japs to hear them now, no need to put the barrel of a gun to the head of anyone caught screaming from the terrors in their own heads in order to keep their location secure, but Eugene didn’t fight as long as he did only to come undone now, for boots who’ve barely seen a day of combat to pass judgment or witness his unconscious moments of weakness. 

And so Shelton works harder at being an asshole during the daytime hours, cultivates a deeper, more dangerous reputation than the one he’s already deservedly earned, and bit by bit, their bunk empties until it’s only the two of them left, pressed so tightly together anyone looking from the outside would have trouble telling where one of them ended and the other began. 

\---

They have no interest in the city around them, indifferent to the art and history that surrounds them. They never venture outside the base unless they’re duty bound to do so, shunning the opium dens and liquor joints their fellow marines flock to. They don’t want souvenirs to bring home, stories of wild nights spent in exotic places with even more exotic women. They just want each other.

Even that much is a gift, enough to have them looking over their shoulders, worried it will get taken away. Shelton doesn’t develop nightmares like Eugene, but he still feels raw, chasing phantoms in the daylight hours, and he clutches on tighter to Eugene, the only thing he can always be certain is real.

In the war, they rarely touched, and never this sweetly, indulgent and taking their time. Now, the simple act of holding Eugene is a revelation. 

They have the time and safety to start to remember what comfort feels like without having it instantly spoiled by panic, and Shelton spends many afternoons holding Eugene long and loose, their bodies piled together comfortably, sunning themselves on the roof or lounging together in the shade of the grounds when the weather is warm enough. When the weather starts to turn damp and cold with a harsh wind in the air befitting of a proper winter, they lie together under piles of blankets instead, warming each other up in other ways. 

Peacetime makes Eugene greedy, openly and unapologetically so. He becomes demanding in little and big ways, wanting sleep and solitude most of all, and beyond that, anything Shelton will give him. He doesn’t take from their fellow marines anymore, but still presents Eugene with tokens whenever he can, a flower Eugene rolls his eyes at but still takes, candied fruit purchased secretly while on patrol. 

Most of all, Eugene demands closeness, and Shelton is more than happy to oblige. They’ll lie together for hours, even after getting a full night’s sleep, and Eugene will arrange their bodies exactly to his liking, sighing happily when he’s achieved maximum comfort. He’ll press his face into Shelton’s neck when he’s stretched out over top him, heat or cold changing nothing with respect to their desire to be touching everywhere possible, skin on skin. Hands and feet tangling, bare chests pressed together. Other times, Shelton will spoon Eugene and he’ll hold Shelton’s hand up to his mouth, sucking on his fingers steadily.

He’s unselfconscious about what he needs from Shelton, seems to have no trouble silently taking it, and only makes an objection if he fails to get it. He frowns if Shelton isn’t close enough, any time or place, and when they’re wrapped together, he clings without pride or concern, takes to making low, needy sounds of protest whenever Shelton withdraws too soon, breaking their reverie before he’s ready.

Shelton comes to depend deeply on those sounds, those precious hours of private togetherness, craving them like oxygen. Just as necessary to survival, equally as fundamental.

\--- 

Hunger comes back first. A few weeks of solid rest without motor fire or nightmares to color their sleep and it starts to feel like the war is really over, and some of what combat took away starts to come back.

For Shelton, it starts with hunger. Not just the need to eat, that desperate, gnawing ache that drove him to consume anything he could to sustain himself, to survive, but real hunger. A craving for certain foods over others, the luxury of preference.

Hunger is first. Desire comes very shortly after.

During the fighting, his need for Eugene was a bottomless thing, something too vast to contain or fix on a certain point, any specific goal. He just wanted Eugene, all of him, all the time, for everything. 

Now, nothing has changed, ‘cept that he has the time and energy to channel that need, to funnel it into certain, increasingly specific wants. 

His tongue on Eugene’s cock, bathing it, pressing down so deep in his throat he’s gagging on it. He wants this not even to make Eugene feel good – although he wants that too, viscerally – but because he needs to feel it. Needs Eugene to fill him up and choke him with it, how close they can now be. 

His hands on Eugene’s wrists, his ass, his tiny waist and his narrow, razor-sharp hips. His tongue following, tracing the bruises his fingers leave behind.

His face covered with Eugene’s come, his back and thighs painted with it, wet and hot.

Sinking into Eugene himself, his ankles thrown over Shelton's shoulders.

Positioned together on their knees, hands working each other’s cocks mercilessly, Eugene’s teeth pressing another scar into Shelton’s wanting skin. 

He wants them closer, closer, until it isn’t just their souls that are linked, it’s all of them, every part, now and always, from beginning to end. 

\---

Eugene, it seems, has other ideas.

\---

Weeks more pass and Eugene gives him nothing but a frustratingly chaste amount of cuddling, hand-holding, and a lot of heavy fuckin’ looks he doesn’t come even close to following through on. He’s warm with Shelton, attentive to every one of his needs except the most desperate, the most obvious. 

Shelton tries everything else he can think of, and then finally resigns himself to begging.

“War’s fuckin’ over, Eugene, kiss me at least.”

Eugene looks up at him from the book he was reading, startled. 

“You want _me_ to kiss _you_?” 

He sounds serious, genuinely surprised by this turn of fuckin’ events, and Shelton is on his feet in a heartbeat, incensed.

“You stupid, huh?” he demands, getting up in Eugene’s face and pushing him a little, hand splayed against his breastbone. “What the fuck.”

Eugene blinks at him, head cocked, but then the gears start turning again, and he laughs, Shelton assumes at both of them. “I just figured you’d be the one, you know, to start things properly. When the time came.”

Shelton did not bust his ass to keep Eugene alive through those endless months of hell only to have him die at Shelton’s own outraged hand, and that’s the only thing that saves him. 

Instead of throttling Eugene and then possibly somehow himself, as they both clearly deserve, he shoves Eugene down all the way on his cot, straddles him, and says, “Kiss me, Eugene.”

Eugene stares up at him for a moment, mouth fallen open and eyes wide, and then he grabs a fistful of Shelton’s dog tags, and pulls. 

\---

They keep to themselves as much as possible, these days. Not so different from before, apart from opportunity. Unless they’re on duty, they hide away however they can, increasingly addicted to being alone together, their only chance at real peace. 

They make an exception for Bergie, on occasion, when he can be bothered to track them down and is in the mood for some shit talk and chain-smoking. 

This particular time, it’s mid-afternoon and Eugene is passed out in his rack, up most of the night on duty and feeling it more than Shelton himself, or maybe just indulging himself because he finally can, ‘specially knowing Shelton is there to keep watch. 

Shelton is wide awake, but has staked out a spot at the foot of Eugene’s cot, naked back pressed against Eugene’s bare legs, hoping to chase away any bad dreams that might otherwise threaten to disturb him. 

He and Bergie have gone through three pilfered Lucky Strikes each and are both working on their fourth when Bergie clears his throat and says, “If you ever need to talk,” trailing off with an awkward shrug. 

“‘Bout what?” Shelton asks, voice thick with confusion. 

Him and Bergie have been in it together since the beginning, counting on each other for nearly everything, ‘specially before Eugene showed up and stole Shelton’s attention away from precious else, but they’ve never been the kind to spill their guts to each other, swapping fears and hopes, horrors they’ve witnessed or perpetrated themselves. 

Bergie doesn’t reply, just casts his eyes down on Eugene before falling heavily on Shelton’s wrist. The pair of half-moons Eugene’s teeth carved into his skin weeks before have scarred over, mostly healed but still surrounded by faint a halo of purple and yellow bruising. 

Shelton pulls the smoke from his lips and wets the middle of them, top and then bottom. He takes another drag and then says, “All squared away, there.”

He holds Bergie’s gaze, hoping that’ll be the end of it, and Bergie is silent long enough that Shelton thinks it will be, but then he squints a little, and says, “I don’t need to be worried?”

“Not about me and Gene,” Shelton says, sucking in a breath free of smoke and forcing himself to keep meeting Bergie’s stare head on. 

Bergie’s face twists momentarily, but then he lets out a slow breath and stamps his smoke out on the ground, nodding. He gets up, claps Shelton on the shoulder, and that’s the last they speak of it.

It’s as close as Shelton ever comes to talking about what he and Eugene have to Bergie, or anyone else they’ve served with.

\---

A few weeks more cleaning up the mess of the war they helped make, and they’re still regularly enjoying both days and nights of solitude due to the welcoming environment he and Eugene work together so hard to foster. Eugene is sleeping solidly now that Shelton can wrap himself bodily around him and hold on tight the whole night through, and everything is hunky fuckin’ dory except that Shelton is going to fuckin’ die, not from Jap fire, but god damn blue balls.

Eugene has added necking to their regularly scheduled hand-holding and snuggling activities, but that’s it. The more they’re alone, the worse it gets, nights spent tangled together piling up and up with _nothin’_ to show for it, and Shelton’s about to bust out of his own skin. 

“Boy, you’d better fuck me soon or I swear, I’m going to have to start makin’ other arrangements.” 

He’s not serious, of course, not beyond the crude hand motion he makes as obnoxiously close to Eugene’s face as possible, but Eugene still catches the offending wrist and squeezes down on it, hard. 

“You will do no such thing,” Eugene says firmly.

“Can’t stop me jerkin’ off, Gene,” Shelton replies, slightly appalled to hear his voice come out sounding far closer to petulant than cocky. 

“Sure I can,” Eugene says, displaying all the confidence Shelton suddenly lacks, and he pauses just long enough for Shelton to accept that yes, he is exactly gone enough on Eugene to abstain even from jerking himself off if Eugene tells him to, before adding, “I can give you something much better to do instead.”

And then he does.

\---

The new year comes and goes, and finally the company gets word they’re being rotated out. Years away from everything they once knew, time and circumstance forging them into something new, and then suddenly, they’re going home. They travel first by boat, and then by train, saying good byes to the marines they’ve fought with along the way. The only one left that really matters is Bergie, and they send him off with gratitude, hoping his girl will be coming for him soon.

Eugene falls asleep not long after Bergie’s stop, lazy like a cat in sunshine these days, never moving or doing more than he has to. Shelton sits across from him, their ankles hooked together, still not willing to let Eugene sleep untouched, lest the nightmares return. Despite his own need for shuteye, Shelton stays awake into the night, watching Eugene fondly, unable to keep the dumb, love-stuck smile off his face. Once, he’d been afraid he couldn’t love Eugene outside of what war made him, wasn’t sure it was in him anymore, if it ever had been to begin with.

He knows better now.

When the train stops near his old stomping grounds in New Orleans, Shelton lets the only home he’s ever known pass him by without a second glance. 

Hours later, the train stops again in Mobile, and Shelton stands before bothering to wake Eugene, grabbing his duffle as well as Eugene’s and shouldering them both. Finally biting back his smile, he kicks Eugene’s boot until he blinks awake, beaming blearily at Shelton.

“Get the fuck up,” Shelton says, voice warm and full, and Eugene holds out a hand so Shelton can haul him up out of his seat. 

Shelton passes Eugene his duffle, gives him a gentle shove in the right direction, and they step off the train together.


End file.
